Carnal Sin

by Allison Brennan

  Anthony said, “But you said the demon left its victim.”

  “Yes, but it happened fast, as if it was the demon’s will. Since we’re dealing with one of the Seven Deadly Sins, we know they have far greater powers—as fallen angels—than most demons.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “Yes.”

  “What does Jackson Moreno think? He’s very knowledgeable.”

  “According to both Jackson and the witch who’s trying to save her boyfriend, when the ritual is complete, the psychic leash is supposed to snap the succubus back into the chalice. The completion of the spell then sends it back to Hell. But Moira thinks because we’re dealing with the demon Lust, it’s too powerful to send back through a traditional exorcism. We’d hoped to trap it in the chalice, then melt the thing down, hoping that would incapacitate the creature.

  “We’re nearly out of time. The cop on the case has a demon mark. Jackson has the chalice in his vault, and we need to know what to do. If we destroy the chalice, will that free the demon, or will it force the demon back where it came from?”

  When Rafe was done explaining their situation, Anthony was so quiet that he wondered whether the international cell phone call had been dropped.

  When at last he spoke, his voice was tentative. “This is just a theory based on what I know of how demons are summoned and sent back. Occult rituals are in balance—meaning they need to come full circle or there’s the potential for chaos. So a demon summoned through a physical vessel—such as a human body or an inanimate object like the chalice—must return the same way. That is their doorway.”

  Rafe frowned. “But when the Seven Deadly Sins were released, they came through Abby Weatherby. She’s dead. They can’t return through her.”

  “Correct. Because Fiona aims to change the balance of power. But she had Lily there. Lily is the other piece of the puzzle, the balancing arca, and thus would have given Fiona control over the Seven, and the ability to return them when she got what she wanted.”

  “Is that what Dr. Lieber told you? But won’t it kill her?”

  Anthony said, “The theory of balance isn’t new, and I believe we can send them back through the portal opened on the cliffs in Santa Louisa. But it’s not going to be easy, and we still have a lot to learn. Dr. Lieber’s papers are a mess, and—”

  “Ask him. He can tell us right now if he knows.”

  “Dr. Lieber is dead. He died in his sleep before I arrived.”

  “In his sleep? He has information for you, but suddenly he drops dead?”

  “Rafe, we’ll talk about Dr. Lieber’s death and what it means when I return to Santa Louisa.” He paused, and Rafe wondered if Anthony didn’t feel he could speak freely. The idea that someone at St. Michael’s couldn’t be trusted sent dark chills down Rafe’s spine. St. Michael’s had always been their sanctuary.

  “First things first,” Anthony continued. “Dr. Lieber has both facts and theories and examples, but his organization is lacking. I’m trying to put everything in order, and obviously I wish he were here to explain it. That’s probably why he wanted to see me in person, because his writings are all over the place. He has documents and journals in four different languages, and putting them together is cumbersome. I can do it; it’s just going to take time.”

  Rafe was skeptical, and he didn’t know if he could trust the information Anthony now had. It made anything that came from Dr. Lieber’s papers suspect. “Are you bringing everything back to Santa Louisa?”

  “Yes. I’m hoping to leave Italy tomorrow.”

  Moira walked down the steps with the attorney, Nina Hardwick. Rafe caught her eye. She pointed to a Starbucks on the corner, across from the police station, and he nodded and pointed to his phone. He watched the two women cross the street, Moira discreetly surveying the people on the street, analyzing potential threats. She never stopped, he realized. She was always on alert, always tense, watchful, in motion. The only time he’d felt her relax noticeably was after they made love last night and she fell asleep in his arms. She practically melted into him, showing complete trust.

  His heart quickened at the thought of losing her. Their lives were a balancing act, and it wouldn’t take much to knock either one of them out. He wasn’t going to let it happen to Moira.

  “Rafe? Hello?” Anthony said. “I asked if you can trust this witch who came to you this morning.”

  “I’m a pretty good judge of people, Anthony. Years of psychology. She’s scared, and she doesn’t want her boyfriend to die. And she didn’t fake any remorse for the other deaths—I don’t think she’d really considered the consequences of what she’s done until now. And Julie wasn’t casting any spells with Moira in the room.” Anthony didn’t say anything, and Rafe’s hand tightened on his phone. This cold war between Anthony and Moira was putting a wedge in Rafe’s lifelong friendship with Anthony. “We’re stuck, Anthony. The demon has possessed another woman, and Detective Nelson is going to lose his soul if we can’t find it.”

  “Well, you know one thing—you know the demon is going after the cop. Do you know where the cop is now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Follow him. When the demon comes for him, you’ll have to trap it.”

  “That’s why I called. How? Another tabernacle?”

  “Possibly, but it would have to be special, like the one we used in Santa Louisa. I’ll research the matter and get back to you.”

  “Research?” Rafe lost his temper, even though he knew Anthony was doing what he could. “We don’t have time!”

  “Don’t you think I know that? I’m halfway around the world, Raphael! I’ll contact everyone I know who might have an idea, but we’re playing with the unknown here and I don’t have all the answers! I wish I did. Dear God,” he added quietly, “I wish I did.”

  They were all under pressure. “I’m sorry,” Rafe said. “I know you’re doing everything you can.”

  “I’ll call you as soon as I know anything. I can tell you one thing: before sunset, you need to get that cop into a strong spirit trap. In a church or another sacred area. The building itself should weaken the demon some. Keeping the victim in a double trap will buy you some time.”

  “Should we destroy the chalice now, since the demon isn’t going back that way?”

  “No—destroying the chalice now will sever the demon’s obligation to the coven, and it will be freed. You’ll have to wait until it’s trapped. Then do it quickly.”

  “You want me to use the cop as bait.”

  “I can’t think of any other options. You didn’t create this situation, Rafe. This is your best chance to stop the demon before it hurts anyone else.”

  “Will Jackson’s church work?”

  “It should. Grace Harvest used to be a Catholic church, and I believe that Jackson kept the relics under the altar. Create a reverse spirit trap and put Grant inside.”

  “He’s not going to come willingly.”

  “You’ll think of something.”

  He might have to resort to kidnapping, Rafe realized.

  “I hope to have more answers before sunset,” Anthony said.

  Hope. We need a lot more than hope.

  “Be careful, Rafe. Godspeed.”

  Anthony put aside the papers he had been reading. He had to search for the answers Rafe needed to stop this particular demon.

  But what he had been learning from Dr. Lieber’s research was far more frightening than he had let on to anyone here at St. Michael’s, or to Rafe. His brothers would learn the truth in time, but until Anthony understood what it all meant, until he had all the pieces of the puzzle, he couldn’t tell anyone what he was discovering.

  Only Rico had given a hint of what Anthony might find. But even Rico didn’t realize what they would be required to do to save mankind.

  Many of them would die. It might be, in fact, the end of days for St. Michael’s Order and all they represented, whether they successfully sent the Seven Deadly Sins back to Hell or not.

>   TWENTY-FOUR

  Moira and Nina Hardwick settled down with their coffee at a table in the far corner of the Starbucks closest to the police station. Several cops were on break, and Moira supposed that most people would feel safe surrounded by law enforcement—but cops made people like her, who often crossed the legal lines in the fight against supernatural evil, nervous. Moira had her back to the wall so that she could see the entire room, including the door. She and Skye had had several arguments when they were out together about who got that seat—cops, it seemed, also hated having their backs to a door. Moira always won, but she played hardball—she either got the seat or she didn’t sit.

  Nina blurted out the question, “Are you really psychic?”

  “No.” Dear God, I hope not. “But Detective Nelson was becoming annoying and he didn’t believe anything I said.”

  “I hear you there, but Grant is a good cop. Honest, I wouldn’t tell him this because he has an ego this big, but he’s one of the best detectives I’ve worked with.”

  “You’re a prosecutor?”

  She shook her head. “I work for the Board of Supervisors, but my specialty is labor law, so I deal with the unions. I hear about all the cops, and Grant has a stellar reputation. Except for his reputation as a tomcat.”

  She frowned. “Tomcat?”

  “He strays.” She winked.

  “Oh.” Moira hadn’t heard that expression, but it made sense based on what Julie had told her. If she could believe anything Julie Schroeder said. After seeing Julie’s astral at Nadine’s suicide, Moira had several things she wanted to say to that witch, and most of them were four-letter words.

  “So why were you talking to Grant? Because you tried to help that poor girl yesterday?”

  “Partly.” She weighed how much she should tell this woman. “Can I ask you a couple questions first?”

  “Anything. I might not answer, though. I have confidentiality and ethics laws to consider.”

  “Fair enough. What files were you talking about that you gave the detective?”

  “Files that a private investigator gave me. Carson Felix—he was one of the best in the business. I’ve used him in the past, and he often helps law enforcement, sharing info and that sort of thing, so I knew I could trust him. He allegedly committed suicide two months ago, but I think he was killed to keep quiet.”

  “Quiet about what?”

  “You wouldn’t believe me. Grant sure as hell didn’t.”

  “You’d be surprised at what I’ll believe.”

  Nina eyed Moira suspiciously. “Who are you?”

  “I’m an expert on cults.” Might as well go along with the party line, she thought. And it seemed to be working well.

  Nina leaned forward. “Really? You’re a psychologist? Psychiatrist?”

  “No. Former cult member.”

  The attorney raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “You certainly don’t seem the type to be easily manipulated.”

  “My mother was the cult leader. I ran away years ago. But I don’t want other people to fall prey to her lies.”

  Nina nodded, her face a mask of sympathy that Moira didn’t want. She averted her eyes and sipped her tea. Not as good as home-steeped, but tolerable.

  Nina said quietly, “I was having an affair of the heart with George Erickson. Well, it had progressed beyond the of the heart part, but we fell in love long before he broke his marriage vows. Such as they were.”

  Julie had said the open marriage was one-way, but Moira didn’t know what she could believe from the woman who had lied to her, so she commented, “Nelson said he had an open marriage.”

  “Open for Pamela Erickson, but not for George. She wanted a possession; that’s how she treated George. He was wealthy, had genuine stature and respect in this town. And that is not easily achieved, let me tell you. Everyone liked George. He was a terrific attorney and advocate for his clients.”

  “And his wife is …?”

  “A bitch?” Nina leaned forward and whispered, “Or rather, a witch.”

  Nina was feeling her out. Moira sipped her tea and said, “Do you mean that figuratively, or that she’s a spell-casting, broomstick-riding witch?”

  “I don’t know about the broomsticks or spells, and I don’t know that I believe in witches per se, but she’s definitely into the occult, and I know some of the extremist types do some bad things—criminal things.”

  Nina reached into her briefcase. “I made a complete copy of the file I gave to Grant, but that’s in a safe in case I end up dead before my time. This is what I’m talking about.”

  She slid a photograph across the small round table.

  In the photo, Wendy Donovan was watching two women having sex with a man in the middle of a spirit trap. Moira recognized the Luciferian symbols painted on the floor. The tea in her stomach turned acidic.

  Moira also recognized the room from Wendy Donovan’s house—from which they’d barely got out alive last night.

  “Who’s the man?” she asked, trying to hide her horror.

  “Don’t know. Grant said he’d look into it, and I’m sure he will, but he’s overworked and I don’t know how much time he’ll devote to a case that he thinks is closed.”

  “What do you think happened?”

  “I think George’s wife conspired with Nadine Anson to kill George. I know she was involved. She’s a whack job. I want justice—for George. Why should she get everything that was his? The house—his before they married. His money—he has a substantial financial portfolio, the majority earned before their marriage. She was involved; I don’t want her profiting from murder.”

  Rafe walked in and sat down next to Moira. He was preoccupied, and Moira wondered what his conversation with Anthony had been about. “This is Rafe Cooper,” Moira said. She didn’t quite know how to introduce him—partner? Friend? Lover?

  “What’s this?” Rafe picked up the photograph. “This is Wendy Donovan’s basement.”

  Nina leaned back almost imperceptibly, but Moira sensed a shift in the woman from easy to restrained. Damn, Moira was trying to play her cards close to the vest, and now Nina had her antenna up.

  “Who?” Nina asked.

  Rafe glanced at Moira and looked sheepish.

  Nina said, “Okay, don’t play me for a fool. Who exactly are you and how are you involved in this case?”

  Moira glanced at Rafe. How much should she say? Most people didn’t believe in witches, or that witchcraft at its core was trouble. They liked their witches kind and good, like Glinda the Good Witch and Samantha Stevens. That most witches looked like Glinda but acted like the Wicked Witch of the West was generally unknown.

  Nina grabbed the photo from Rafe and said, “I’ll take this with me.”

  “Don’t go!” Moira frowned. She was torn.

  Rafe leaned forward and took Nina’s hand. “Nina,” he said in a low voice, “we need your help. But what we have to tell you is difficult to understand.”

  Moira shifted uncomfortably. Rafe caught her eye and raised his brows slightly. He wanted her to trust him. She leaned back and let him run with it.

  Rafe said to Nina, “Moira is worried you won’t believe us, or worse.”

  “Worse?”

  “That you’re one of them. That you’re here to set us up or send us down a false path.”

  Moira knew Nina wasn’t a witch, and she almost said as much to Rafe, except at the last minute she figured out what Rafe was doing. He was seducing Nina. Not sexually, but using his quietly commanding presence, his attractiveness, his overwhelming masculine appeal—which went far beyond simple sex appeal—to lull Nina into compliance. And while he didn’t act like he was consciously doing it, Moira knew he was being calculating.

  She admired Rafe’s ability to use his charm and psychological background to open people. Moira was often too blunt and sharp-tongued, but Rafe was smooth and calm. He understood people far better than she did. While she recognized a witch on sight and could physically feel energy
and emotions that no one else did, she didn’t understand the why. Why did Wendy’s coven want money, power, things so much that they were willing to not only kill men but subject them to eternal pain and suffering?

  Maybe she didn’t want to know why. Nothing could justify their actions. Their victims didn’t deserve their horrid deaths, and Moira had no sympathy for those who hurt others for personal gain.

  “I don’t know who you are,” Nina said. “When I came to the station today it was to talk to Grant about the investigation into George’s murder. And you’re the one who asked me to coffee,” she pointed to Moira. “I’m not here to set anyone up.”

  “I’m going to tell you the truth,” Rafe said. “It’s hard to take, but I am not lying to you.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Nadine Anson was a witch. When I say witch, I mean someone who uses spells to draw on demonic forces for personal gain. Most witches are innocuous”—he put his hand on Moira’s leg to keep her from arguing that point—“because they don’t have access to or experience with ancient spells and rituals that summon demons into our world.”

  Nina stared at Rafe. She wanted to believe, Moira saw it in her eyes, but her logical, lawyerly self doubted.

  Rafe continued. “We don’t know exactly what happened with Nadine and her coven, but the manager of Velocity, Wendy Donovan, is the leader. The high priestess—the head magician, whatever you want to call her—is in charge. Most of the members of the coven worked at Velocity or were affiliated with it in some way.”

  Nina leaned forward, hands splayed palms down on the table. “Pamela is a supplier. She works for a food and beverage service and handles alcohol supplies for local bars, including Velocity.”

  Rafe nodded, though the information was news to both him and Moira.

  “Though witches aren’t all women—hardly, as most magicians in ancient times were men—Wendy’s coven is all female. They are practicing a particularly vile form of sex magic.”